“You might have won this battle, firefly, but there’s plenty more where that came from,” I whisper in her ear. “I’m coming for you.”
Needing to get the hell out of there, I spin on my heels and walk to the door, ignoring the way my heart still pounds in her proximity.
Should I be doing this? Probably not, but who cares? She deserves it. After her words from yesterday hit too close to home, I need to get myself back to normal. The constant doubting of myself has ratcheted up tenfold, and I’m over it.
I hate her. Like, I seriously hate her with every fiber of my being. From the ends of my size twelve feet to the tips of my ears level of fucking hate her.
So, what better way to start the day than by getting even with dear old Blakey boo?
Blake forgot her bag under the table when she left the library. As an associate, she gets an office, but she doesn’t use it. She spends her time in here, taking each book out individually, placing it back when she’s done, then retrieving another one. She meticulously writes everything down using color-coded labels.
Not that I’m watching her every movement or anything; that would be weird. I hate her, which means I don’t care what she does.
You keep telling yourself that, bro,a voice internally whispers.
She always used to have face cream somewhere on her, something about her skin being dehydrated and needing to freshen up throughout the day. Let’s see if that’s still the case.
Stalking across the library, I look around and notice no one’s watching. Sitting down in her chair, I pretend to look over her notes while also reaching down slightly to rummage around in her bag. I don’t find face cream, but I do find… face mist?
What the fuck is this?
Pulling it out, I read the back and see this could work just as well. Guess she’s gone up in the world.
Pocketing the bottle, I stand up and make my way to the kitchen, grinning the whole way.
Good luck getting out of this one, firefly.
Chapter Nine
THEO
After swiping my card on the keypad, I lean against the wall, waiting for the doors to ping open. I live in a high-rise penthouse, so the elevator opens straight into my place. Once I reach my floor, I toss my keys aside and loosen my tie as I walk into the living room.
My bones are aching from the day. I work out, but I can feel myself getting older. Luckily, the blond of my hair disguises the silver I can see creeping in. I should probably cut off all of my hair at some point, but it feels like it's part of my identity now, I’ve had it so long.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I see on the calendar that there’s no class this week. Joey wants to do a deep clean of the gym instead. He does it every so often, and it breaks me out in hives. I worry about the kids if I don’t see them with my own eyes each week. I know most of them are in safe homes—I may or may not have run a background check on each of their parents when they joined—but Istill worry. Things can change in the blink of an eye so imagine what could happen in a week.
After I’ve guzzled the entire bottle, I make my way through the apartment, noticing how quiet it is.
“Hey Alexa,” I call out, “play my pity party playlist.” The heavy tones of BotherbyStone Sourfill the room, dulling the quiet, and I feel better, the tension easing slightly.
Closed doors greet me as I stroll down the hallway. I hate having them open. I have a serious issue with that damn clown fromIT. After I watched it, any open door used to freak me out since I kept waiting for his head to pop around the corner. So I keep them shut for my own sanity.
Going into my bedroom, I head straight for the shower, bypassing all the clothes strewn on the floor. I’m a complete neat freak, but I don’t have the energy to care about the state of my room right now. The case and Blake are taking up way too much space in my head.
I undress, slinging my suit into the laundry for Mrs. Jones, my housekeeper, to deal with. She’s been with me for the last few years. I tried going for the younger housekeepers, someone nice to look at, but then they got clingy and started coming to work wearing outfits that really weren’t appropriate work attire. I mean, I’m a guy, I love to look, but I have an addictive personality. After Blake, I didn’t want to get attached to anyone again. It was just easier to be by myself. To withdraw and protect my heart.
The water scolds me as I duck under and brace my hands on the wall. I stand there, enjoying the way the water pummels my muscles. I pick up a bottle of body wash and lather myself, running my hands across my nipples. My dick starts to harden, the blood rushing to it as I realize I haven’t touched myself in a while. I run my hand down my abdomen, feeling the ripples of my six-pack as I glide over them.
I wrap a hand around my length, gripping just the way I like—not too tight, but not too loose—and groan, the feeling sending goosebumps across my skin. My hand pumps up and down a few times, the soap making it easy to move. I tilt my head back, the spray of the water hitting my chest as I get lost in thoughts of a faceless body.
My breathing comes quicker with every move of my hand. I want to slow down, to really enjoy this, but the way my body is going, I just want to reach my orgasm and feel that high you only get when you cum.
I hear phantom moans from the faceless woman, her back arching as I thrust into her in time with my hand. Fantasy me slides a hand up her back, gripping her hair and tugging her to me. I nuzzle my head into her neck, my spine tingling as my balls get heavier. She cries out in ecstasy, then her face turns to me—it’s Blake. I cum, white hot jets spurting across the tiles of the shower.
I pant, trying to catch my breath as horror and disgust fills me. Of all the fucking people on the planet, it has to be her face that makes me cum harder than I’ve done in a long time. Why couldn’t the face have remained anonymous? Why did it have to beher?
Turning off the water, I grab the nearest towel and angrily dry myself off. Hatred runs through my veins, the self-loathing starting again. I hate my brain for making me think of her.
